


pause

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Dark, Dissociation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Mercy Spoilers, POV Second Person, Player as Antagonist, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara and an abandoned No Mercy run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pause

**Author's Note:**

> uh. please pay attention to the warnings in the tags. I wasn't sure exactly what to warn for??? but please know that this is not a fun time

You are a body.

You are a body who can move and blink and walk. Quiet footsteps on linoleum, the faint clicking of boot heels on tile. A hand extends, pulls open the refrigerator door. No chocolate. You had wanted chocolate. Chocolate is solid. Chocolate can bring you back when you begin to drift. But there is no chocolate.

(Why would there be chocolate? You've already checked so many times. Why would it be different now?)

You close the door. 

You are a sack of skin and bone, blood and meat and sweat. Your freshly-cut strings drag along behind you as you wander. If only you were made of wood, then you'd be a true puppet. You could sit in the corner, gathering dust and awaiting a new master. But wood is solid, wood is clean, wood cannot feel regret, and you do not deserve that. You are but a half-puppet, a facsimile of a marionette. Dancing flesh.

You are made of memory. The You who used to wander these halls has since been cut out of you and scattered through the Underground like dust. Now you're only what you can remember. The hollow space inside of you where your soul used to be is a gaping, bleeding wound. It feels like hunger. It feels like thirst.

Somewhere, there's a You who never left. If you can just keep looking, then maybe you will find it. Maybe you can take its place.

Your footsteps drag.

You are not supposed to be alone. There was always meant to be somebody else.

In the beginning, there'd been Asriel. He had been your saviour. He had been your sun in the true sun's absence. You had circled him and needed him and even swallowed poison for him, all so that he could be free. Then everything had gone wrong, and Asriel had left you, and you were left alone for a long, long time.

When you'd met the other fallen human, you'd clung to them like the seeds of a golden flower, whispering advice to them as they'd led you through the Underground on legs that weren't yours. They were like the moon, a quiet reflection of Asriel's brightness. They were not the same at all, but they were someone you could lean on, someone who could show you what to do, and in time you might have cared for them. 

But then, somewhere along the way, you'd been joined by someone else; a third person that you didn't know, someone you couldn't put a face to. Even though they didn't have a face, they had a name; they were _PeterAliceGabeNimMikeSaraRiverBarryKaz._ They were _every_ name. They were the sound of fingers on a distant keyboard, their presence looming over you in every shadow.

Their suggestions had begun as impulses, a whispered _fight_ or _flee,_ and you and the other human had obeyed, because their voice held an authority that was difficult for those like you - broken and lonely and desperate - to resist.

At first, their suggestions had made sense. _You can't win, you need to flee,_ and _SAVE, this battle will be difficult._

But. But then. _Saveandresetandsaveandresetandsaveandreset_  and steadily the voice grew louder, suggestions gradually becoming commands, ordering you to _fight, fight, fight_ until there was nothing left.

As you accumulated SAVES, they led you through the Underground, over and over and over again, and slowly, they became all you had. You had tried to die before, to sacrifice your life for some greater purpose, but then you'd suddenly awakened with nothing left to guide you, no motivation left to drive you. Yet this person clearly had a purpose, albeit one you didn't understand; they were so insistent, so demanding - clearly they needed you for something, right?

They gave you a _reason._ And if you made them leave you, too, then who would help you get the ending you desired?

 _I don't want to fight,_ the other human had thought more than once. You couldn't blame them; you didn't want to fight the monsters you had loved once, either. But you also couldn't ignore your only guidepost, and you could always just reset - and so you'd offered your assistance,to make it easier for them, helping guide their blade when they began to hesitate, stepping in to take their place when it came time for battle. 

If you just listened, if you just obeyed, then maybe this person could show you why you'd failed before. Maybe they could help you fix it. There had to be a _reason_ for what they wanted you to do. Why would they ask you otherwise?

When the other human left, they slipped away as quietly and suddenly as a candle blowing out, and then you were alone inside an empty body.

You were almost lonely when you realized. Before this other presence had arrived, the other fallen human had been your only hope.

But you had a greater purpose now. No point in sparing them your concern.

(A thought that's isn't yours: _it doesn't really matter, I can always start a new game._ )

True. True! It doesn't matter. New game, new file. SAVE, load, reset, start again. And even if this doesn't work - if you don't reach your ending - then everything will be okay. Just reset and try again, as many times as it takes.

But. You must have done something wrong. Something that couldn't be fixed through a reset. You don't know what, but you must have, because then the presence left as well. 

You are not supposed to be alone. Someone out there is supposed to guide you. Someone out there is supposed to _help_ you. When you first came back, you'd been so confused, so afraid. How are you supposed to live now, after everything that's happened? You can't be alone, you _can't_ be. If you are alone, then you have no purpose. If you are alone, then you have no reason left to fight. You have no reason to have fought at all. 

All this dust, clinging to your sweater. All those monsters, begging to be spared. The blade that met its mark, time and time again. What was the _point_ of it all?

If the other human were still here, you'd beg them to offer you a reason. _Why am I still here? What am I supposed to do?_

But they had left you too. 

The presence had told you to fight and you had fought. You had fought, and you had won. You had done everything right. You had grown strong. Your LOVE had only ever increased. You had been good. You had listened to them. And apparently, it still was not enough.

(What _would_ have been enough?)

Now there is only you and an empty house and the vast Underground.

You should feel angry, maybe. Angry at being abandoned yet again, at being used and tossed aside like an unwanted doll. But you don't. You just feel numb. You are just a body, not a person. You don't have a soul. You are neither human nor monster. This body isn't even yours. There's nothing left for you to feel. 

You smile when you catch a glimpse of your reflection, because you can't remember how to do anything else. 

(If you smile, maybe they'll forgive you. Smile, be good, obey, please don't be angry, please come back, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.)

(But you _were_ good, you think, fists clenching. You'd done everything they wanted.)

There is nothing left for you in New Home. You have gone through every shelf and every drawer. You have gone through every book. You have eaten all you can.

What else is there for you to do? 

You could go to sleep, maybe. If you sleep, then you won't have to think. You'll dream, though. Specifically, you'll dream of smiles. Not the hollow one reflected in the mirror, but someone else's. You'll dream of a golden hallway, of a storm of bones and of a crushing weight upon your heart, and your dream self will wonder  _what ending lies beyond this hallway?_ and you will never reach the end. You cannot pass that cold, joyless smile. Your guidepost has abandoned you. 

You don't want to dream.

But there is nothing else to do, and so, once again, you shuffle down the hallway and towards your old bedroom.

You already know that there is nothing for you there. There is nothing for you anywhere. Still - maybe this time, you will be surprised. Maybe this time you will find the You who'd been torn to shreds so long ago.

But when you open the door, the room is empty and you are still just a body.

 _Less_ than a body, actually. You are a corpse, a shambling, rotting corpse. You are dead. You are not supposed to be here. You are vile, disgusting, an abomination.

No wonder they abandoned you.

Even your breath is trembling. 

You are not supposed to be alone.

They had left you. The other human won't return. And Asriel is nowhere to be found, no matter how many times you explore New Home.

You stand in the doorway, vision blurring, and on an impulse, you reach for your SAVE file.

But then you hesitate. Are you really free to use it, if it bears another's name? 

(Had they even _known_ your name? 

The other human's name had been...

You can't remember.

Perhaps names are not important.)

They could still come back, you think with an edge of desperation. The presence may return, and together, you will make it through the golden hallway. The two of you will be like partners. You will stand together, and, while working in tandem - while obeying their commands - you will achieve your goal.

(What _is_ your goal?

 _(Freedom_ , something whispers.

 _Power,_ whispers something stronger.)

Maybe you should wait. They could still return, after all. Together, you will reach the absolute.

It will be together. It _has_ to be together. You yourself are nothing. You yourself are worthless. If anything is to be achieved, you need someone by your side to guide you. You are but a memory, occupying space that never once belonged to you. You can't do anything alone.

Something in your chest is aching. You cannot recognize it anymore. Are you hungry? Are you angry? Are you afraid? 

Your eyes are not your own. Your hands are not your own. Nothing that you see or feel is real. Are _you_ real?

Your knife. Your knife is cool and solid. Your knife, at least, is true. Metal never lies.

You take it out and run your palm across the blade like a caress. A thin red line wells up; drops of blood that gleam like pomegranate seeds. You are bleeding. Blood is real. Pain is real. 

The empty boxes are still lying on your side of the room. They'd been so neatly wrapped when you had found them. Now they, too, are collecting dust.

The flower had been watching you back when you'd first opened them, peering at you from around the corner as though hoping that you wouldn't notice. It had done that quite a lot, actually - watching from a distance, something desperate written on its small, grotesque face. 

When you'd fixed the locket around your neck - _Asriel's heart, beating alongside yours, right where it belongs_ \- the flower had crept closer with an eager smile. 

"Do you like it?" it had asked. "I thought you might! I mean, it was always yours, but now it's yours _again!_ I wanted to surprise you, I - "

Its voice had trailed off when you'd gone to open the second box, face contorting into a grim parody of a smile.

"You like that too, right?" it had asked, watching as you'd taken out the knife. "Way better than those toys you'd been using before. Nobody can stop you with _that,_ ha!"

Your locket and your knife; possessions from the past. Metal never lies. Metal never leaves. The only constants in your splintering reality.

The flower had watched you opening your gifts with so much hope on its tiny face that you'd almost felt a little guilty for moving on without a word. But you'd never had very much to say to it. You'd only bothered sparing it because something about its smile had reminded you of Asriel. Hell, if the flower were to be believed, it _was_ Asriel.

But that was stupid - your Asriel would never be as callous or as cruel as the flower seemed to be. Your Asriel was  _better_ than you. He would never sink to your level the way the flower had. 

Still. The flower spoke of memories that only Asriel could have. It spoke as though convinced you were its friend.

Some kind of twisted echo flower, you'd decided in the end, possibly resulting from a magical experiment. One that reflected memories instead of spoken words, maybe? 

Or a hallucination. 

Either way, you'd left that thing alone far longer than you should have. You were sentimental, far more than you'd like to be, and even if it _were_ a trick, magical or otherwise, having something that reminded you of Asriel had made things a little easier.

But then the flower had begun to grow impatient. Of course it didn't know who you were waiting for, and when it demanded explanations for your hesitation to move on, there was no answer that you cared to give.

Eventually, the flower had asked, "Did you change your mind?"

Again, you'd given it no answer, but it didn't seem to matter. 

"I guess...that would be okay," the flower had said, and once again its face took on that awful _needy_ look that made you hurt in ways you'd thought you couldn't hurt anymore. "I mean, I've grown pretty bored of this place. But if  _you're_ here, it should be okay. Everything feels new with you, so...maybe staying here won't be so bad."

But that was wrong. Staying _would_ be bad. You wanted out. Not just out of the Underground, but _out._  You couldn't let this be for nothing. 

(Where are they? Why did they leave you? Had you failed them somehow?)

And the flower babbled on as always, vines curling towards you, as though wanting to reach out to you but too afraid to touch.

That is when you realized your mistake.

They had wanted you to fight, and here was a creature who had gone unslain. They'd left because your sentimentality had disappointed them.

The answer was so obvious. And your knife was perfect for cutting plants and vines.

But the flower's crying had seemed horribly familiar.

And in the end, it hadn't even worked. 

You're more alone than ever, now.

Now there is just you.

No, not even that. There is just what's _left_ of you. You are a body, you remind yourself. You are empty inside. You are nothing.

Maybe it's only fitting that you be alone, just you and the skin that binds you. Maybe this is meant to be your your punishment. 

But. 

Still. 

You stand alone in the middle of that dusty bedroom, one hand clenched around your locket, the other clenched around the handle of your knife. Blood trickles down your palms, and you wait for someone, anyone, to come and find you. 

You are not supposed to be alone.


End file.
